Tales From The Crip: interview with a gang member
Arm The Spirit
(formerly known as Kody Scott aka Monster Kody) is reprinted,
without permission, from Prison Life (July 1993). It is being
posted by Arm The Spirit, afo...@moose.uvm.edu
Tales From The Crip
By Chris Nadler (Prison Life Editor)
"There are no other gang experts except participants!"
proclaims ex-gangster Sanyika Shakur, AKA Kody Scott, AKA
Monster. Shakur's just-released Monster: Autobiography of an L.A.
Gang Member, is not only a chilling, inside look at life on the
streets and in one of L.A.'s most feared gangs, but also the
story of one man's unique evolution and personal triumph through
self-motivation and a genuine desire to reach a better place so
that he can show others the way there.
"I propose to take you, reader, through the life and times
of my own chilling involvement as a gang member with the Crips. I
propose to open my mind as wide as possible to allow my readers
the first ever glimpse at South Central from my side of the gun,
street, fence, and wall."
So writes Sanyika Shakur in the preface to his recently
published book, Monster: The Autobiography of an L.A. Gang
Member. Born Kody Scott some 30 years ago, he earned the name
"Monster" at the age of 13, after so brutally and inhumanely
disfiguring a man, that police said only a "monster" could have
done it (Scott wasn't caught). A chilling claim to fame, but it
worked on the war-torn streets of Kody's 'hood, where the
imposing moniker was worth more than a hundred college degrees
and was as synonymous with survival as air, food, and water.
Monster's collision course with the justice system began at
an early age, when a local hoodlum, Tray Ball, recognized his
potential. Tray Ball, who became Kody's mentor and fellow Eight
Tray Crips gang member, explained to him early on that "bangin'
ain't no part-time thang, it's full-time, it's a career. It's
bein' down when ain't nobody down with you. It's gettin' caught
and not tellin'. Killin' and not caring, and dyin' without fear.
It's love for your set and hate for the enemy." The words fell
like deep, philosophical jewels on Kody's ears. In the langauge
of the South Central streets, they spelled family and promised
honour, self-worth, and a chance to earn respect. Besides, there
were no viable alternatives to consider as far as he was
concerned. He wasn't making a choice, he was simply accepting an
inevitable reality.
At 15, he spent nine months in Camp Munz, a juvenile camp,
for carjacking and assault. Convicted of armed robbery when he
was 17 , he served two years in the California Youth Authority.
Most recently, at 21, he was convicted of assault with a firearm
and sentenced to seven years. In between, he says, he has "shot
numerous people and been shot seven times myself." (Wisely, he
doesn't dwell or elaborate on his hits, omissions intended to
steer him clear of Death Row.)
He is currently in mate D07829 and resides in solitary
confinement in "the last stop", Pelican Bay, in Northern
California. He is in SC - which means spending 22.5 hours of each
day in an 8x10 cell - because of his alleged affiliation with the
Black Guerrilla Family prison gang, though he denies these
charges. In fact, he is no longer the wayward Kody Scott, so
easily infatuated with the glamorous life of being a gangbanger.
Nor he is Monster, the indestructible Original Gangsta (OG), who,
while still in his teens, imagined that "our aggressive
conquering of territory in those days, and still today, resembled
Hitler's sweep through Europe." That is a frightening analogy,
particularly when one recalls the anarchic death-sweep the recent
L.A. riots threatened. Rodney King's plea, "Can't we all get
along?" takes on even greater, more imperative meaning.
"I wasn't fully aware of the (Crips') strong gravitational
pull," Shakur writes in his autobiography. "I knew, for instance,
that the total lawlessness was alluring and that the sense of
importance, self-worth, and raw power was exciting, stimulating,
and intoxicating beyond any other high on this planet. But I
still could not explain what had happened to pull me in so far
that nothing outside of my set mattered.
Monster reveals the real life of a high-ranking gang member.
No punches are pulled, no violence is toned down for an R rating.
But the book also conveys the changes that Kody Scott has gone
through en route to ultimately becoming Sanyika Shakur. The book
was written from prison. While the events that inspired it were
life-long, the event that finalized his decision to write about
his life and examine the path it has taken, were the L.A. riots.
"It was time," he realized when all hell broke loose in the City
of Angels.
Behind bars, Shakur has chosen a new weapon, the pen. He has
read a lot, consuming books by ancient philosophers like Sun Tzu,
as well as contemporary ones, like Eldridge Cleaver and Malcolm
X. He has learned Swahili. And the more he has read and learned,
the more his outlook has changed.
If he stays out of trouble with the authorities, Sanyika
Shakur is scheduled to be released in September 1995. He will
walk out of prison gates a literary giant. And a rich man. He
reportedly received more than 200,000 for his book. At press
time, one of the biggest and most powerful agencies in Hollywood
was shopping it for movie rights. He wants to continue writing
and to "make a significant impact on the community." His is the
story of a life that has not just been saved or turned around,
but completely reborn. Physically, his environment will remain
the same for two more years. Spiritually, however, he has left
one world behind and begun building a new one.
The following is the result of an exclusive interview Prison
Life conducted via mail with Sanyika Shakur. Typically, his
answers are well-thought out and deeply articulate. Many should
not just be read, but contemplated, chewed slowly and savoured
like vital food for thought.
Interview With Sanyika Shakur (AKA Kody Scott AKA Monster Kody)
Prison Life: The truce the gangs declared following the L.A.
riots gave a lot of people hope that things could change, that
perhaps we all could get along. Is the truce being honoured in
the system?
Sanyika Shakur: Let me first make a critical correction so that
this interview can flow with greater continuity, affording the
reader a better overstanding of the concrete reality in which we
are speaking of. The term "truce", by and large, is an
inappropriate definition to describe the subsequent developments
in the wake of the L.A. rebellion. There has never been a
"truce", per se. What there has been, however, is a partial cease
fire agreement, enjoined by certain sets who see themselves in a
more objective light than what their antagonists have painted
them. And while most sets gave lip service to such an idea, few
followed suit when they found practice to be far more demanding
than theory, which we are now beginning to feel the backlash of.
It's not enough to say that the originators of this righteous
idea are continuing their work.
It is my overstanding that the cease fire is being looked
upon favourably by captured bangers in the general populations
here. But you must overstand that there really has never been
much Crip and Blood violence in the prisons here on the West
Coast. Each group has had an organizational body that has usurped
the youthful rage into a more focused - African-centric, if you
will - type of expression. The Bloods have the United Blood
Nation (UBN) and the Consolidated Crip Organization (CCO). And
while two other formations have grown up here, Blood Line and
Blue Note, they hardly rival the following of the (UBN and CCO).
The violence here is primarily racial. Thus, long before the
cease fire negotiations were undertaken, and I mean years before,
there were joint military ventures between UBN and CCO to repel
the racial aggression of other organizations. A lot of what was
taking place in terms of cease fire negotiations before the
rebellion was a result of networking here, in prison, first. That
is, the ideal flowed from the inside out. The reason that the
most knowledgable among us do not use the term "truce" is, first
and foremost, because we don't want to disillusion anyone.
Especially potential supporters. "Truce" is a lofty word, very
heavy indeed. While this is certainly an objective of ours, we
know that we are by no means near it - yet. Perhaps most
importantly, we overstand that each set, altho' bound by
objective law, is in fact, an autonomous unit. Therefore, we can
only suggest that each set participate. And frankly, some have
said, "No, fuck peace!" Which leaves us in a position of having
to eventually confront the non-believers. So you see, all those
who paraded in front of media cameras fronting like they were
speaking for thousands were, in fact, speaking for but a few, and
some only for themselves.
Are the gangs recruiting soldiers behind the walls?
Recruiting behind the wall? Yes, I would imagine so. I think
now, however, people are enlisting rather than being recruited
like days of old. It's quite appealing to be in the "army" when
it seems the country is not at war. I wouldn't be at all
surprised if the ranks of both Bloods and Crips swelled 200% this
year.
As I said, most people are encouraged by the truce or cease-fire.
There are law enforcement officials, however, who suggest it's
merely a publicity stunt designed to polish the gangs' image and
to give people a false sense of security. What do you say to
that?
We must keep in mind that one's "job description" as a
banger doesn't include public relations for community or law
enforcement approval. By and large, these street formations are
social structures that in many ways meet the needs of youth who
have an array of problems already - long before they join the
set. They come into the set with various problems that,
unchecked, find expression often in violence. And while we have
recently had "stuntmen" acting in front of cameras, believe me,
it has nothing whatsoever to do with an attempt to "polish the
gang's image." I would be more apt to believe the cause of most
of the "stuntmen" we've seen has more to do with individual
aspirations then with any collective design for publicity.
Opportunism is not foreign in these parts. The false sense of
security is being fostered by those who know little about the
lofty task of working out a cease fire. These are the brothers
who keep mis-using the term "truce" to denote the first ever
fragile steps in a cease fire. This is very dangerous and it
gives the righteous efforts of those behind the scene, locked in
bitter negotiations, a tarnished perception. All thru the
rebellion, certain sets kept up their assaults on neighbouring
sets. Even while buffoons stood proudly in front of media cameras
proclaiming a "truce", soldiers were hard at work, as usual,
clocking their rivals 'hood. So how do we, the righteous, explain
to the civilians still being held hostage in their own homes that
there really is no "truce"? We have lost their support in part to
irresponsible opportunists.
Many of those same officials also suggest that the gangs haven't
worked out this truce to keep the peace and stop the killing, but
are actually becoming so organized that violence interferes with
their carrying out more sophisticated crimes, such as drug
trafficking. Do you think the gangs honestly want to help rebuild
the communities (i.e, their "Give us the hammer and nails and
we'll rebuild the community" proposal) or are they really opting
for strength in numbers, a tactic which, if successful, will
allow them to make more illegal profits and make them more
formidable opponents for the police?
The street organizations ("gangs") are not existing on
another planet, exempt from social influences or political
policies. These groups, if nothing else, are survivalists. And
they've learned to survive by any means necessary. How can they
exist here, in Amerika, and not be drawn into the almost
fanatical chase and accumulation of things? Their infrastructure
is predicated on drug distribution, no doubt. But - and this a
very crucial question - from where does their supply flow? A
drowning person will grab any rope that is thrown. Which is not
to say that I condone narcotics trafficking, because I don't, but
I do understand that people must eat, have clothing, and have
shelter. I believe there are those in these formations who do
want to make a positive step towards healing some of the hurting
that they have been responsible for. This number unfortunately is
small, but that is indicative of the so-called "leaders" out
there, who are talking loud and doing nothing. The LAPD is a
highly organized political network. That is, they reach far above
and beyond that of just a police department. Their scepticism and
criticism of cease fire negotiations stem more from their
knowledge of who organized it, than from its potential to be
positive. They know that those they have manufactured evidence
against, fabricated stories to convict, beaten to confess, and
maimed beyond repair are those responsible for the flow of these
negotiations. That is very upsetting to them. They are nervous
out of guilt and perhaps rightly so. "The Spook Who Sat By The
Door" is now a best-selling book in South Central.
After your first capture, you served only 19 days out of a 60 day
sentence. But when you were convicted of grand-theft auto and
assault charges at the age of 15, you received a 19 month
sentence to Camp Munz. What were your first few weeks at the Camp
like?
My first few weeks in Camp Munz were adventure-like. Being
captured wasn't so bad. I wasn't really heavily into girls then,
so I didn't miss that too much, but I did miss being able to move
about as I pleased. I'd say the restricting confines were my
biggest problems. Never was too close with my family. We all were
individuals in our separate mindsets. In Camp, however, I got to
see real cows and goats, hike in the mountains, and be in the
snow. This was a new world to me. My first few weeks were filled
with gorging huge amounts of camp food that they never seemed to
run out of and establishing my territory - letting potential
threats know I was there.
Does Camp Munz (and other places like it) really work?
Camp Munz, like any other jail, works only if you want it to
work. The curriculum must be strong enough to divert, and hold
the prisoners attention - away and onto something other than that
which contributed to his/her capture. I was not interested in
changing. Fact is, I didn't know I had a problem. So I found the
clique at Munz who I had in common with - other Crips - and my
criminal mentality survived and continued to grow. I left Munz
more determined then ever to be an O.G. Recidivistic mores are
quite easy to find in most facilities, especially when the
prisoners are not aware of their faults. How can you fix what you
don't know is broken? One can't very well rely on the prison
administration. Especially when most of its staff are rural
Amerikans ("whites") who don't know the first thing about the
colonial complexities of the urban areas where most of the
prisoners come from.
You considered Tray Ball, who was instrumental in initiating you
into the gang set, to be your mentor once. You're 30 years old
now. Who do you now consider to be the most important people in
your life?
The most important folks now are my wife and my children and
family. Which I believe is the first institution in the nation.
The family is the social hub of the community, from which stems
proper community relations. As a revolutionary unit our family
stands as an example to others.
Growing up, was there anything that might have gotten you away
from a life of crime?
Perhaps a stern father figure who demonstrated values
grounded in principled relations with my mom and other people in
our community. And examples that I could emulate and feel strong
in doing so. Crime being in the mind as a reflection of
nurturing, I believe.
What needs to be done, what can be done in the communities, to
help prevent other children growing up from getting involved with
crime? Obviously, education is an important factor.
Education, yes, but not conventional methods that tend to
only train folks into being consumers. The parents must stand up
and reclaim responsibility for their children's education. All
practical steps must be taken to ensure that a concerted effort
is taken to do this. If the child is into Hip-Hop, then you must
get into Hip-Hop. As parents, we tend to impose our authority on
the children without letting them be co-responsibles in their
development. This all too often alienates the child and gives
him/her an early sense of dependency on authority, or an anti-
authoritarian mindset. Households that have conquered the
maladies need to network with others that have likewise moved
past the societal landmines and create community associations
free of any U.S. law enforcement agencies. That is to say,
"neighbourhood watch" gotta go. Family, community, nation.
Your weapon of choice was a blue steel .44 Bulldog. Today you say
"writing has been my spear, and intelligence has been my shield."
When did you switch?
I made the switch in weaponry when it became evident that my
criminal mentality had been transformed into a revolutionary
mentality. Study and struggle have been responsible for this
transformation. Knowledge of self and kind is so powerful. I
mean, I was snatched up by the sheer reality of our situation in
this kountry. I was in the security housing unit at San Quentin,
repressed to the max and I was given study material. Initially, I
had trouble with it, 'cause my reading was not up to par,
especially for Franz Fanon, but there was a cadre of concerned
New Afrikans that saw my sincerity and helped me. I'm not anti-
gun now, that's not sensible. But I am anti-irresponsibility.
Those mindless gun-toters should be disarmed.
When did you begin writing your memoirs?
I began writing this book in March of '92 while I was out to
court near L.A. All I had was a two inch pencil (pens weren't
allowed in that county jail) and a legal tablet.
What prompted you to actually write your memoirs?
I felt it was time to break the silence and to explain what
it is that we go through in South Central, in California, in
Amerika as New Afrikan people - but young men in particular.
Claude Brown, Comrade George Jackson, Malcolm X, Eldridge
Cleaver, etc. had written, each explaining to the world, but more
so to the New Afrikan nation that, "Hey, there's a problem here
with us." It was time that this problem, too, be thrown open for
discussion. I was prompted by the wreckage I was standing in and
had contributed to.
What thoughts went through your head as you relived some of these
past experiences? Your first shooting, for instance.
I can't begin to explain the thoughts I was experiencing as
I rolodexed my retention and recall to specific acts. My first
shooting was garish only because of my age, but other things have
happened since, that call up some frightening images of self,
divorced from any life-giving, life-sustaining actions. For long
periods of time I was walking death, middle name destruction. All
for a colour and a street. Terrible now are the thoughts of such
insanity...
Do you have any regrets about your past activities and actions
you've taken?
Indeed, I am plagued by great feelings of regret. In so far
as it was senseless, I am remorseful. Thus my life work now is
dedicated to the dissolution of this madness.
Are there any thoughts that gone through your head since you
finished the book and turned it in? Some other comments you wish
you'd shared or stories you left out?
Some thoughts of greater application of skills have cropped
up since I turned in the manuscript. You know, I wanted to put
forth some solutions I felt were workable, but the work became
too cramped. And while the original name of the work was Can't
Stop, Won't Stop - Memoirs Of An O.G., I've since changed it to
Monster: Autobiography Of An L.A. Gang Member> So, I figure to
push the problem out first and in my next work bring into view
some solutions. I've shared enough gore. Perhaps, I should have
used more family - but I didn't have any to draw on.
Have certain events taken on a new or different meaning in
retrospect or reflection?
Many, too many, I'd say were ill-conceived military strikes
borne out of emotionalism. Altho' most of the recipients of our
violence were other soldiers, some of them didn't have to be
pushed out. Others were unavoidable.
How was writing the book - in fact, writing in general - changed
you?
Writing, period, has been a rebirth to me. A new expression
of strength thru social awareness. My first writing ever appeared
in "Crossroad - A New Afrikan Captured Combatant Newsletter", and
it was terrible! But the brothas gave me a chance and thru
constructive criticism I grew better. I have learned thru
writing, to be objective. Merciless editing sessions with my
publisher has given me keen insight. Writing is my life vocation;
I'm content with that.
Do you communicate with other prisoners at all? Can you still
network within the prison from solitary confinement?
Yes, I communicated with some of my comrades who are
prisoners of war/political prisoners in kamps across Amerika -
Marion, Leavenworth, WallKill, etc. Networking with the G.P.
(General Population) is difficult, but urgently necessary.
Have you changed your approach to networking? What do you try to
communicate to other prisoners?
Study and struggle are the main things I try to articulate.
Non-sectarian networking is of the most importance, since we seem
to be so fragmented. I keep in mind that talking to prisoners is
very important and I try never to talk at them or over them. I
owe my life to prisoners who had patience with me, who believed
in me. I am duty bound to be as useful.
When you get out, will you really be changed? Or is this possibly
a "prison" attitude vs. a real attitude that will be affected
when you're out of prison and having to earn a living, dealing
with the streets again.
I was sent to prison in '84 for shooting three opposing
soldiers. I was paroled in '88 as a Revolutionary Nationalist. I
was hounded by three separate agencies. My home was invaded and
an AK seized. I was sent back for a year violation. I was
captured in '90 for disciplining a crack dealer who was moving
dope in a drug-free zone. Because of my prior record, I was given
seven years. I've been in solitary since. So I changed the first
time. I am a revolutionary. How I am today is how I will be when
they bury me. This is no "attitude", this is my life, my
children's lives, reality.
Do you ever see a lasting, real peace between the Crips and the
Bloods?
When we create an alternative to banging, that is, a
revolutionary culture, the Crips and the Bloods will blend in or
face the people over the barrels of guns. The Black Panthers did
this with the predecessors of the Crips and Bloods. We cannot
afford to let them run rampant in liberated territory.
What is your attitude toward white people, in general?
Like every other view I've had, it has changed. At first, I
was driven by ignorance and blind hatred of them. Where I lived,
all the police were Amerikans ("white"), all the judges, all the
teachers, all the doctors - everybody who had something to do
with my life as an Amerikan, but I lived in an 85% New Afrikan
community. All of our people seemed to be at their mercy. My rage
was unfocused, so it was like, "Yo, fuck all white people", you
know? I was letting them define me. Well, needless to say, I
studied that unfocused view into clarity. Now I am aware of their
problems that cause them to react like some of them do. Frances
C. Welsing, Ayi Kwei Armah, and Haki Madhubuti taught me a lot in
this regard. More than ever now, I sort of pity them. I try,
however, to judge each as an individual. I respect those who
respect me. And I will kill those who try to kill me.
You made mistakes and were caught. Has the justice system done
its job with you? You've obviously worked hard and made contacts
on the outside, but were there any programs on the inside that
helped at all?
Yeah, you can say the justice system has done its job with
me, which is to say that it has given me a life experience in
regards to its irrelevance to people of colour. Recidivation is a
multi-billion dollar business in this kountry. Some folks do need
to be rehabilitated. But not as the justice system sees fit. The
BOP (Bureau of Prisons) and the DOC (Department of Corrections)
idea of re-habilitation is to turn out clones of
indistinguishable cultural make-up. In their view, one's cultural
habilitation caused their original act of criminality, therefore
in prison they must be re-habilitated. That is, assimilated, de-
cultured, and simplified. And those of us who refuse this
stripping are labelled "threats to the institutional security".
All prison has done to me is put me in a cage and counted me
amongst the damned. Every book I've read, I bought. There is no
apparatus here that represents cultural diversity. Either we
follow the eurocentric courses or we don't learn here.
Independent study redeemed me; the prison tried to hamper this by
not allowing certain books in.
In your book, you describe how you got the name Monster. It was
in 1977, when you were 13. You were robbing a man who tried to
get away. Tray Ball tripped him and you "stomped him for 20
minutes, before leaving him unconscious in an alley". Will you
try to find him and compensate him in any way, now that you are
in a position to do so?
I've thought about what you asked and, yes, I feel obligated
to make a substantial contribution. Not just to him as an
individual, but to my entire community. In this light I have
recently purchased a book store that will cater primarily to
children and independent New Afrikan schools.
You began reading a lot in prison, what are some books you
recommend other inmates check out?
Books - Two Thousand Seasons by Ayi Kwei Armah; The Iceman
Inheritance by Michael Bradley; Blood In My Eye; Soledad Brother
by George Jackson; The Isis Papers by Frances C. Welsing;
Sunviews by Sundiata Acoli; Assata by Assata Shakur, and Cages Of
Steel by Churchill and Vanderwall. There are so many.
Your mother has said that you've always loved the "strategic art
of making money as opposed to just having money." Explain.
I've never been hung up on money itself, but more so the
pursuit of attaining it. Which is why I will be a good fund
raiser for the New Afrikan Independence Movement. I don't mean
this like a capitalist would. Money is never so important that
I'd exploit someone to get it. That's treason.
Regarding prison reform, what are some short term, or immediate
changes, you feel should be implemented? Long term?
Short term - an immediate national prisoners organization.
Long term - the liberation of all New Afrikan, Puerto Rican,
Mexicano, Chicano and native Nation prisoners from U.S. jails.
What are some words you live by now?
"Nobody can do everything. But everybody can do something."
- Martin Luther King
"The scope of the reprisal is equal to the magnitude of the
attack."
- Comrade George Jackson
"If we are not for ourselves/Then who will be for us, if
not/now, then when?"
- Malcolm X
"Power to the People who don't fear Freedom."
- Jonathan Jackson
t...@canon.co.uk
|The following interview with ex-gang member Sanyika Shakur
|(formerly known as Kody Scott aka Monster Kody) is reprinted,
|without permission, from Prison Life (July 1993). It is being
|posted by Arm The Spirit, afo...@moose.uvm.edu
:
|Tales From The Crip
|
|By Chris Nadler (Prison Life Editor)
|
| "There are no other gang experts except participants!"
|proclaims ex-gangster Sanyika Shakur, AKA Kody Scott, AKA
|Monster. Shakur's just-released Monster: Autobiography of an L.A.
|Gang Member, is not only a chilling, inside look at life on the
|streets and in one of L.A.'s most feared gangs, but also the
|story of one man's unique evolution and personal triumph through
|self-motivation and a genuine desire to reach a better place so
|that he can show others the way there.
Monster Kody also crops up in Leon Bing's "Do or Die", which is
basically a compilation of interviews from gang members (both Bloods
and Crips).
BTW, Anyone know when the "Monster:..." autobiography is available in the UK?
Tx.
--
Tim F O'Donoghue <t...@canon.co.uk> !TFO phone: +44-483-574325 fax: 574360
Robert Jordan
jus wanna thank "Arm The Spirit"
for posting
sanyaka shakur's interview.
knowledge was dropped.
-rj